A Different Kind of Fetching
by Infinity Limited
Summary: Drabble award - paring and idea from Risi. Severus goes to Privet Drive only to stumble upon old grudges, old flames and the revenge plot of a life time. See him get the girl, his freedom, and the family he never had - in 10,000 words, no less!
1. Chapter 1 Revised

Update 11/27/11: I am reposting this chapter with several corrections. Sorry for the double post. Hopefully the posting of a new chapter makes it worth it…

Cheers, Ltd.

Risi's Drabble

Risi won a drabble: 10K words, 2 characters of Risis' choosing, any scenario/genre.

Risi picked Snape... (hooray!) and Petunia (huh?) and… romance/lust (OMG! No, I can't imagine that! Help! Ugh!) But… it's all new; it's different, and kinda cool in an icky sort of way….

I have only just started posting on my fan fic, and have written very little 'smut' published or not, so this is a first attempt - BE KIND!

And I hope you enjoy it, Risi!

Warnings: RATED M. Really. I am not worried about offending you, dear reader, so if you are worried about being offended, you likely should go read something else.

Disclaimers: If you recognize it, it's likely 's. If you don't it's probably mine, or an allusion to something else, or who knows? I am making no money off of this, and it's purely for the enjoyment of Risi (most importantly) and the rest of the universe (if I'm lucky).

A Different Kind of Fetching

Snape was livid. He had soundly refuted the arguments that the boy needed to be monitored since the death of his God-Mutt only a year after the admittedly horrific events ending with tragic death Cedric Diggory and the rebirth of the Dark Lord. But that blasted boy! Moping around, trying to heap attention on himself in some big pity party; well, he, Severus Snape, wasn't falling for it! The boy had it all – friends, money, attention, a doting family in an affluent muggle neighborhood – things he himself had never had no matter how long or how hard he worked, and no matter how hard he tried. The boy was depressed, Dumbledore had said, and vulnerable. Well, he Severus Snape had been depressed for 16 fucking years and you didn't see him whining about it like a bloody wanker! 'Brew the boy dreamless sleep, Severus, teach the boy who just wouldn't fucking die occulmency, Severus.' Well, he had absolutely had it with being shoved in the corner behind a pampered, whining wimp!

Working himself up into a tremendous rage was not likely the best course of action when he had been pressed into service to rescue the golden brat, but Snape was beyond that truth. The dour little muggle houses, properly kempt, were the perfect backdrop to his unmitigated rage. Yesterday had been the boy's 16th birthday… and Remus Lupin had gone to number 4 Privet Drive to retrieve the boy for, as Dumbledore had said, 'a proper birthday celebration' – Dumbledore believed it would be an excellent, face-saving cover for an attempt to re-establish contact with the brat who had been sulking so thoroughly that he hadn't bothered to write to any of his pathetic little friends. And rather than just sending the obnoxious, arrogant spoiled imbecile a howler to explain what an inconsiderate, lazy and worthless piece of humanity he really was and motivate said brat to get off his lazy arse and write a letter, the headmaster had seen fit to send an Order member to go retrieve the brat. And if risking the life of several Order members to throw an arrogant brat a party wasn't the height of all useless activities one could wake up in the morning for, sending a second order member to retrieve said boy for tea to determine if the reason for his isolating himself when summoned was due to emotional duress certainly reached that pinnacle. Severus Snape's ire was spiraling up into the Havens, at a rate to compete with the fury of the gods.

Petunia Dursley, nee Evans was an irritable woman in the best of times. Her life was as small and narrow as the stick thin frame of her body. She had no ambitions or goals, nor any accomplishments of her own accept a perfectly ordinary home, a perfectly unremarkable husband, and a great whale of a child. And even that she hadn't done right, although she tried her hardest not to admit that to herself. At a young age, she had known surely and truly that she would never be exceptional, for she had seen in the eyes her parents as they watched her sister Lily, how those who were exceptional were regarded. And she herself, in regarding the heart of her sister had known that her sister was indeed every bit as exceptional as her parents believed. In that utmost truth laid the painful knowledge that she, Petunia would never be exceptional. And how people responded to you when you were. Well, Petunia had decided a long time ago that she was not going to be a failure! If she couldn't strive and succeed at being exceptional, then she would be the most normal person, in the perfectly normal family; and she would be damned if the sister that robbed her of any hope of being exceptional and admired would foil her aspirations of being as normal as can be.

Petunia didn't often think these thoughts. Mostly, she kept her mind off her past, off her extended family, and narrowly focused on a few topics of great import to the gifted of the mundane: what the neighbors thought, what Vernon's wealthy sister thought, what was normal and right in her mundane little world. However, over the past few weeks, this had been more and more difficult to do. First of all, her awful brat of a nephew, spawn of her freak of a sister had come home. He had been quiet so far this summer, not that they had much to do with the whelp, but this summer more so than usual. That awful man Dumbledore had stated he had a traumatic event at school and his Godfather had died. His murdering wizard of a Godfather, she reminded herself; of whom the very thought of which had held her husband's ire at bay for many months - but no more. She was secretly both pleased and disappointed in the change in the child. On the one hand, he was easier to deal with in this despondency. However, that meant she had to see him more frequently, which reminded her of her sister more which made her more anxious that her accomplishment of normalcy was in some way threatened.

The boy had been completely complacent, following every order, working until he nearly dropped, always under foot cleaning something for fixing something. Before this summer, he would avoid her, get cheeky or get trampled by her Dudders and his little friends and be out of the way for a while. And while that had been annoying because then she had to do more work, she hadn't realized what a relief it was not to see the boy at all. But this summer, he had plodded on, even when her Dudders had left him a bit more bruised than usual, even when Vernon had been a bit heavier handed than he ought to… and these thoughts lead her to her current predicament.

Petunia Dursley was weeding. In the very early morning on what was beggining to look like a very hot first day in August she was out on the lawn on her hands and knees, in a cotton house dress with an apple green floral print on a white background, white apron with eyelet lace, and matching apple green gardening clogs and foam gardeners knee pad, and a floppy white oversize sun hat with a matching apple green hat band and a fake yellow and orange gerbera daisy on one side. The gardening implements were also white, with apple green handles. Like her life, her ensemble was perfectly coordinated, and perfectly planned, prim and proper as ever, but Petunia Dursley hated it. She didn't mind a bit of the gardening, but not when it was hot, or not when she had to get up early to avoid the heat, and not when the boy was home. She would much rather be at the air conditioned mall window shopping with her bridge club pals, seeking some refuge from the heat. But the boy had been having nightmares, and hadn't been paying attention, and it had been hot – well, the boy should know better than to not pay attention to the tasks that Vernon gives him. And leaving a rake where it could fall away from the house and actually scratch Vernon's new car-well the boy was daft, but the punishment had been a little severe. Vernon was only letting the boy out of his room once a day right now, first thing to fix breakfast, use the loo and return any dishes from his room to the kitchen, which wasn't much, since Vernon was only giving the boy one meal day (a can of soup and a slice of bread) and a glass of water.

The boy had made no noise, but she knew that it was stifling hot upstairs, and the boy couldn't open his window. Vernon had first placed old thick curtains, drawn, over the window. Then, he had put a thick sheet of plywood over it and screwed that into the walls, right into the studs. And then Vernon had placed bars over the wood, bolting the whole monstrosity over the plywood. No one was going to break the boy out again, and make a fool of her husband. She sighed. If she thought about it long enough and hard enough, she would come to realize that Vernon Dursley was perfectly normal, and perfectly mundane. This meant, in very layman terms, that Vernon Dursley was indeed a fool. But Petunia never wanted to examine herself long enough to determine her own status; she likely would not come to his conclusion about her husband, either. She blithely weeded on, cursing the brat upstairs for the sticky sweat running down her back.

At first the boy had welcomed the darkness. He had come home to the Dursley's, expecting the worst summer of his life, but not caring. He deserved this. He would have had a home for once. Sirius had promised him a home. Now, Sirius was dead, dead because of his failures, and thanks to Dumbledore's intrusiveness, his family was perfectly aware. He moved through his days, trying to focus on the next task, do each task well, and move on. At first, this had kept his Uncle complacent, Dudders bored, and his Aunt complaining bitterly about him being underfoot. As they days had worn on his Uncle had grown suspicious. He had made the chores harder, the punishments harsher; but Harry moved as though through a fog. He simply hadn't seen fit to care. And then he had left that rake by the car and it a fallen. He could have kicked himself for balancing it on the handle like that, even it was just for a quick moment to pick up the trash and move it to the bin. The rake had fallen, scratched the car and his uncle had, in a fit of rage, shoved him. He hadn't been hungry much, he was sure he had lost a stone, maybe two, he couldn't be sure, but the shove had been hard and his head and connected with the frame of the garage. He had quite the shiner. His uncle had continued to scream at him about the scratches, and he had shown his first bit of defiance. Not defiance, really but apathy. One statement, barely spoken, and said more in reference to the pain in his face rather than anything else, or maybe not said about anything in particular, but just everything. Even now, he isn't quite sure why he said it. "Like I care about this?"

Now, he was in the darkness, trapped in his thoughts. He had been locked in his room 4 days ago, and let out in the morning, where he cooked breakfast, did the dishes (including those that had sat overnight from dinner) used the loo and that was it. Without the window light, he had used the overhead light almost non-stop, but the bulb had burned out. Uncle Vernon had refused to give him another. At first the darkness had been soothing. He was no one, no where, and had nothing he would accomplish, not for himself or anyone else. He, at first, didn't struggle to keep his mind perfectly blank; the chores had kept him exhausted; his lack of appetite combined with the lack of any food worth eating had helped.

But, the chores had ended abruptly except for the morning regimen, and the light had gone out and now he was stuck in the darkness with nothing but his thoughts and the sweltering, unable to clear his mind, unable to defend himself from him memories. The room was sweltering, his thirst his only distraction. And yet he didn't really care. He deserved this.

He must have been dozing, because Harry didn't hear his great whale of an uncle come up the stairs. He certainly should have as there were 7 locks on the door. He tried to stand up quickly and block the light from his eyes… he must have been in the room a while in the dark, his eyes didn't adjust, and he was completely blinded as his uncle shoved the door open.

"Boy!" snapped his Uncle, grabbing him by the back of his neck "Get in that bathroom and clean yourself up, you have 3 minutes, and I want breakfast on the table by 7:15 sharp! And no funny business, or you will regret it!" he snarled as he pushed the boy roughly toward the bathroom. He worked quickly, although half blinded still by the light, to get in the bathroom and his clothes off, ran through a tepid shower, greedily swallowing a few mouthfuls of water that helped sooth his sticky mouth and parched throat.

Severus Snape was not pleased to see Petunia nee Evans Dursley in a perfectly horrid house dress with coordinated gardening paraphernalia. It was early morning, surely the woman should be in preparing breakfast for the boy he blood well wished was already dead and her own muggle whelp? Well, no help for it – as much as he had disliked the woman after growing up with her, she was the key to getting the boy and getting out of this dreariness on with the rest of his miserable existence.

"Tuney, my, I never thought I would see the day of you on your hands and knees before me," he said with a smirk.

Petunia was startled out of her thoughts by a deep velvet voice washing over her, the sarcastic bite was unmistakable. She came up from her knees abruptly.

"You! What are you doing here? Lily told me you had turned dark and evil, and I should call the police if I ever saw you. Get away from here before I just do that!" she spat at him, her voice tinged with both indignation and fear.

The mention of Lily's name hit him like a bucket of cold water. Lily had distrusted him enough warn her estranged sister about him. After so many years he was surprised at how much that hurt; it felt like betrayal. He pushed those feelings down deep inside his shields, and quickly studied the woman before him. Interesting, he thought to himself, she fears me now, and that took no effort on my part. She really hadn't changed much. She had a delicate build, almost spindly, but realized that here think legs were best left covered. She didn't have much of a face either, but no particular feature stood out as unattractive. More, her rather plain features were transformed into ugliness by the sneer that she wore. It must have been difficult to be in the shadow of someone as radiant as Lily, he thought idly, as he deliberately increased the intensity of his gaze to make her more uncomfortable. In many ways, this woman had been as betrayed by Lily as his own heart had been. He shoved that feeling aside as well.

"Well, since you dear sister had the misfortune of meeting an untimely demise, she no doubt failed to keep you apprised of my current allegiances." he said in a slow drawl. "If you must know, I now work for Dumbledore, at the school where the Potter brat attends. I have been sent to fetch him. And I don't have all day. Kindly rouse the brat so I can leave this vapid place!" he ordered in a hiss.

Petunia had started to tremble. "We told that freak that came yesterday that the boy doesn't want to leave and we don't want your kind here." she stated firmly. She silently hoped that Vernon had listed to her admonishment not to leave any more marks on the boy and to let him out in so that the freaks wouldn't think they had been mistreating him. After all, was it their fault the light bulb had burned out? The worthless brat certainly hadn't told her about it.

"I seldom care about what a 16 year old child wants are doesn't want. I will make him leave if he doesn't wish to go. You should learn how to control your children." Snape snapped.

The woman stood up indignantly. "I have you know we keep tight discipline in this house. We have said he isn't leaving. Come back in a week and you can have him as long as you want!"

Hmmm, well her appearance certainly didn't improve with the knobby knees that were revealed when the woman lurched to her feet, Snape thought, and the hat was utterly ridiculous. But the woman was angry, which released the bitter, pinched expression, and her eyes flashed in anger, and blush suffusing her former dull cheeks. In this moment, she looked a bit like Lily, he thought, schooling the surprise of such an observation off his face.

"I assure you, I will not waste my time returning to your hovel. Produce the boy, or I will retrieve him myself. And you may call the muggle authorities if you desire… they certainly don't concern me in anyway." he said in a lazy lilting sneer.

Just then the booming voice of one Vernon Dursley managed to penetrate the walls of the home, through the open front door, which Petunia had left open with just the screen door in place to let some to the fresh morning air into the home. She cringed, regretting that decision in this moment.

"Boy, you will do all your chores today. Look at your Aunt out there on the lawn in the burning heat because you are too worthless to be with the public. Get all your chores done, or I will lock you back in the room, and if you think you are getting little to eat now, it will be no food until the weekend!"

One eyebrow arched toward his hairline. "Really, Petunia? Starving the boy who lived? How very sadistic of you."

"Vernon's just making sure the boy behaves, and doesn't do any of his freakishness. He doesn't really mean it." she replied, glancing nervously at the house.

It didn't' take any of Snape's accumulated skills of 20 years of spying to figure out the woman was lying. Badly. His sensitive ears heard the sound of flesh hitting a hard surface, or something solid connecting with flesh. "Hurry up boy, or there is more of that where that came from you worthless waste of breath!" came floating out from the house.

"My, Petunia, I find it difficult to believe you just now. Let's say you and I go into the house and observe just what kind of discipline the boy is under." he said quietly, drawing his wand.

"You can't! I told you to leave…" she started, but Snape cut her of with a lazy wave of the wand.

"You will do exactly what I say, or you shall regret it. You will stay silent, and directly beside me." he stated casting a disillusionment spell on the both of them after checking to make sure none of the neighbors were about at this early hour. He stepped quickly into the woman's personal space grabbing her firmly under the elbow and all but frog marched her into the hallway, where he paused.

"We will wait here and watch for the moment, Tuney." The dark chocolaty voice was a barely whispered breath into her ear. The sensations combined with the much more powerful presence of the menacing man behind her sent chills up her spine. She was shocked at herself to discover that it wasn't just fear, but something else, something more primal affecting her so. Something she couldn't remember feeling for many, many years. She had despised this boy growing up, she thought to herself. With his beautiful black silky hair, dark eyes and quiet demeanor, she had thought him the epitome of the tall, dark and handsome - the exciting mysterious type. But like everyone else, the boy had only ever had eyes for Lily, and after many years of hurt, her childhood crush and imagined fantasies of living in a magical world had turned into hate. To be in his proximity, magic about her brought back some of those childhood feelings. It was disorientating. It was terrifying. So why did she so desperately want the man to stay exactly where he was?

Snape observed the brat. He was dressed as rattily as ever in clothes much too large stained and torn. The boy mostly had his back to the room as he did the dishes, but even from here, he could tell the boy was much to pale – far paler than his usual milk white complexion. The boy was at the sink, scrubbing dishes, while the great whale of a muggle set at the head of the table, sloppily inhaling a full English breakfast while he read a muggle paper. In a display fit for a stock yard, the son of the man sat across, the boy barely managing to get all of one portion in his fat maw before his hand reached out for the next serving. It was not lost on the professor that there were only 3 place settings; indeed it was obvious that the Potter brat would not be served at all.

The boy continued methodically at the sink, scrubbing, rinsing and stacking the dishes neatly, careful not to get any of the water anywhere. He could see a pale sheen of sweat on the back of the boy's neck. Every so often the boy would pause, and take a deep breath, steadying himself against the counter. But why? Was he trying to keep his anger in check at his ill treatment, Snape wondered? Was he trying to hold beck some other type of emotion? As the boy finished the last of the cookware, he slowly turned around, resting his back against the counter, presumably to wait for the two before him to finish their meal so he could finish the clean up. What he saw when the boy turned around nearly made Snape gasp in surprise.

Not only was the boy horribly pale, but a dark bruise was under his left eye wrapping around to the temple, and the start of a welt was already starting to show signs of bruising under the left eye, as if the boy had recently been backhanded across the face. Well, that certainly explained the dull thud he had heard moments ago. The boy was looking down, but dark circles ringed his eyes, and he was very pale. The too large shirt hung down around his neck, showing another bruise at his shoulder. It was obvious to Snape that this was from being grabbed and forced to go somewhere. He had left many bruises such as this on people himself; he knew what they looked like. He noticed the boy continued to take deep breaths every so often, and release them through his nose, and that his legs were ever so slightly shaking. Was the boy ill?

"Freak – after you finish the dishes, you will finish all of the yard work, and I mean it better look fit for the Royal gardens. Ungrateful whelp, letting your aunt salve away like that. I want you to do that first, and then get your worthless hide out of sight of the neighbors. I want both of the bathrooms cleaned, these floors scrubbed, and the laundry finished. And dinner better be on the table by 7pm sharp, or that little smack you received earlier will seem like a love pat. You hear me?" he snarled.

"Yes Uncle Vernon." the boy replied quietly, no inflection whatsoever in his voice. Finishing their meal, the men at the table rose, and the larger boy shoved his cousin hard as he made his way by him, causing the much smaller boy to hit his hip painfully against the counter. Snape watched in disbelief as the boy's normally quick reflexes abandoned him, and he want sprawling across the kitchen floor, knocking a glass from the table as he flailed on the way down. Vernon Dursley turned at the sound.

"You clumsy little brat! How many of our things are you going to ruin? First the scratches on the car, and now this?" Snape observed that the larger boy was in the corner, trying to stifle a laugh. So, this was not a onetime occurrence. Tuney's spawn was one great big bully. Potter has just made it to his hands and knees, and appeared to be trying desperately not to heave, when the great whale of a man reached him. He grabbed him by the color and hauled the boy up like a particularly ungainly marionette, and continued to berate the boy. "Just for that, no dinner for you tonight! If you can't respect our things, why should we feed you or give you the clothes on your back?" He wrenched the boy back who stumbled as the shirt tore, falling into the massive uncle who pushed the boy away from him again suddenly. Snape would later only be able to recount the next events in correct order with the aid of a pensieve. Shock and outrage had a way of doing that to a person.

As the boy was shoved forward, he stumbled again, and it was obvious that the earlier trembling he had noticed in the boys legs was definitely some form of ailment as the boy didn't seem to have the strength to stop his forward momentum, and fell headlong into the glass on the floor. Snape didn't see in the moment where the boy had cut himself, all he saw was a smear of red sweep across the pristine white linoleum. He heard screeching from his left, as Petunia finally reacted.

"Vernon, I told you to leave the boy alone!"

Snape watched bemusedly as the man turned suddenly bewildered by his wife's abrasive admonishment came out of a space from the hallway that looked completely empty.

Snape's gaze snapped back to the struggling boy, who had managed to get onto his hands and knees again, or hand anyway, as one arm was cradled protectively against his chest, but from the spots of blood still hitting the floor, it was obvious that the cut was a bad one. The boy heaved, and Snape realized the boy was about to vomit, but there was nothing in the boy's stomach. After two heaves and a failed attempt at an indrawn breath, the boy crumpled lifelessly to his side on the floor.

Snape's shock was suddenly replaced by a huge upsurge of sweltering fury. His earlier anger quickly becoming a tempest in his soul as he saw his own deplorable childhood in the menace of the Uncle, the bullying of the cousin, and the defeated defenselessness in the crumbled heap of a boy in front of him.

"Petunia? Did this worthless freak do something to you?" exclaimed the great walrus of a man, looking desperately around for his wife. Vernon Dursley strode over to the fallen boy. "Freak, undo what you did to my wife!" he shouted, landing a kick in the stomach of the crumpled, unconscious boy.

"Vernon! Stop it this instant!"

"Petrific totalis!" hissed Snape, freezing the man in place. A gasp from the corner of the kitchen reminded him of the larger boy's presence. A wandless sticking charm trapped the boy against the counter, and another sudden flick ended the disillusionment charm. He strode quickly to the ailing boy squatting down on the floor to assess the damage.

He checked for fever, but the boy's forehead wasn't hot, but cold and clammy. His breaths were coming in shallow irregular pants, and blood was dripping freely from the gash on his hand onto the boy's shirt. Looking around, the boy lay haphazardly amongst the ruins of the glass and smattering of blood. He needed to get the boy onto a surface from which he could be tended. He carefully placed both the boy's arms across his chest, and then flicked the wand so the boy hovered in the air for a moment. He gave the wand a bit of shake, which in turned caused the boy's body to shake just enough to knock of the glass that was attached to his clothing, and then guided him slowly towards the couch.

"He'll get blood all over the furniture." Stated Petunia, somewhat waspishly. Before Snape could admonish the woman for her stupidity, or poor sense of taste at the hideous floral divan, the woman had ran to the hallway and came back with a dark blue blanket which she spread over the divan as he gently lowered the boy.

"Has he been ill?" inquired Snape in a murmur, as he picked up the arm that had a gash from the heel of his palm angling away to the outside of the boy's wrist. Noting the tee shirt the boy wore was mostly clean and hardly worth saving, he simply tore it off the boy and quickly into rough pieces of which he bound the cut firmly so he could finish examining the boy.

"Not that I know of, but he has been in restriction in his room for several days. He hasn't said anything to me." replied Petunia.

"Restriction?" he asked quietly.

"He scratched Vernon's car when doing his chores a few days ago. He has been staying in his room." she answered.

The boys eyes suddenly fluttered opened, a quiet groan escaping his throat.

"Potter?" he said, looking into the boys eyes which didn't seem to see him. "Can you hear me?"

"Yes, but I can't see." replied a croaking voice, as the boy tried to sit up.

"Stop struggling, you foolish boy. I am trying to tend your injuries." he stared suddenly as the boy flinched away from the harsh tone. "Relax, Potter. Rest a moment." he murmured in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. The child, either too weak or too exhausted to care, slumped back.

"How long was he sent to his room?"

"Since Saturday."

"Petunia, it's Wednesday. Where's the boy's room?"

"Upstairs."

He cast a quick diagnostic spell. Other than the bruises on his face, the boy seemed half starved and weak. The removal of the boy's shirt has revealed a few more bruises, and a very thin frame, but nothing that should account for his current weakened state. Had the boy been poisoned?

He watched as the letter swirled from the diagnostic spell. Heat exhaustion and dehydration. Lovely. Well, that would explain the blindness, weakness and nausea, he thought as well as the boy's pallor. A mild concussion, a few days old was next on the list. Likely explains the black eye, he thought, and thought about what his own father would have done to him over damage to an expensive object such as a car. He sighed. Contusions mostly elsewhere, and a nasty gash on his palm, of which he was already well aware. Minor, long term bouts of malnutrition. So the starving as a punishment was by no means new. But the magic of the spell continued on. Depression, grief, emotional trauma. He glanced at the woman who was hovering a few feet away, eyes flicking between her restrained family and the Wizards in her sitting room.

"Petunia, bring some tepid water and a cool, damp cloth, please." he stated, as he sat considering the boy. He reached out and removed the boy's glasses from his face, causing the boy to rouse again.

"Professor Snape?" he asked quietly, both apprehension and something he couldn't quite name in the boy's voice.

"Yes Potter?" he replied, curious as to how the boy would deal with his current predicament.

"I am sorry about the Pensieve. When you do, well, what you have to, you know, with me, can you remember I was sorry? I realize you won't have much say, but if you could make the end quick…"

"Potter, what are you prattling on about?" huffed the Professor, quite shocked at the apology, but confused about the boy's remaining words.

"You're taking me to him." the boy muttered.

"To Dumbledore. Yes." The boy tried to open his eyes at this, but they were still unseeing.

"Dumbledore?"

The boy seemed genuinely surprised. That meant the boy thought he was being take to a different 'him'; it took a moment to realize the boy meant the Dark Lord, and the end he wanted quick was his own. Grand. Just what he always needed was to be saddled with a suicidal Gryffindor with a hero complex. He didn't have it in him to be angry at the boy any longer. He was obviously not the spoiled brat he thought, and to be apologizing while half delirious… the boy had just turned his entire perception of the world on its head. He didn't know what to think.

Petunia returned with an un-refrigerated bottle of water and a cold towel, and deciding there was no easier way, slid himself behind the boy's torso so he was propped up against his lap and chest on the couch and brought the bottle to the boy's lips to help him drink.

"It's just water Potter, but nothing else is going to do you as much good right now. I need you to take several small sips." He instructed, keeping his voice low and absent of malice.

"I don't think I can drink anything, Sir. I'll just get sick." replied the boy.

"The nausea is due to the dehydration, Potter. Just do what you're told. It will be over soon." he replied, stifling a sigh. The boy's blank stare became a look of utter resignation, and relief. Snape's brow furrowed in consternation. The boy really did want to die. His anger whipped up again, but he took a deep breath, and buried it far beneath his occulmency shields.

It took about 20 minutes to get the water into the barely responsive boy. He took the cool cloth and wiped the boy's brow and face. The boy had begun to tremble lightly. Snape was aware the boy was likely slipping into shock. While none of the boy's injuries were life-threatening, the combination had taken its toll. He had gotten the boy cooled down, and started the rehydration process. The boy was no longer in danger of slipping into a more serious heat stroke.

"Potter, I am taking you someplace safe where you can recover. I want you to rest. I am going to spell you asleep for a bit. We will deal with anything else later." The boy didn't answer him as he made good on his words.

He pulled the edges of the blanket firmly around the boy's trembling thin frame, covering his bare torso. Something flared in the pit of his stomach, protectiveness, matching his anger. Even though the room was quite warm, in his state it was going to be difficult for the boy's body to maintain its own body heat. He slipped out from behind the boy and propped him up with some pillows, which helped with shock. He had spent the last 5 years risking his neck to protect this brat, and not even a fortnight in the presence of his relatives, the boy's condition was deplorable.

He stood, observing the boy for the moment, seeing that his breath had evened out. The rag that he had secured the cut with was soaked through, but wasn't continuing to seep. He would have to clean and spell the wound closed once he got the boy away from here. Once he was satisfied that the boy was stable and resting as comfortably as he could for the moment, he stood, and turned his full attention to the trio behind him.

Petunia Dursley sat on the very edge of a wing chair body forward, elbow on her knees hands pressed firmly against her mouth obviously deep in some sort of contemplation. He studied her for a moment, her eyes meeting hers. He saw several emotions flit through her eyes; fear, yes, but something else something familiar to himself – self loathing. Anger. Betrayal. Curious, but that could wait. He turned himself to the large, ugly man, cast frozen in his shoes.

Just beyond him stood his spawn, arms crossed, caught in an obvious sulk. Merlin, was there anything more useless than a 16 year old boy sulking? His eyes flicked back to the family Patriarch, who, although he could move not even an eyelash, eyes were glittering with suppressed rage. The man was too stupid to know the kind of peril he had brought upon himself. The Professor turned, gathering his surroundings. An absent flick of his wand repaired the glass and vanished the mess. He noticed many portraits around, mostly of the Dursley's whelp, some of the trio, but none of the Boy who lived. He walked carefully out into the formal rooms, and then up the stairs. He noticed one room was a disgusting pigsty, full of books and games. The next room was utterly dark, with multiple locks- all on the outside of the room, and a door flap. He pushed the room the rest of the way open, and flipped the light switch, but nothing happened. The room was haphazard.

"Lumos." He muttered, summoning more light. This room too was in disarray, but it was evident what kind of room this was. It was austere. A few articles of clothing both folded and put away and dirty and strewn over a hamper, a cheap camp bed with no linens and a single blanket, a desk with a broken chair and not much else. He saw the bars over the window. This room was a cell. Nothing more and certainly nothing less. Four days the boy had been plunged into darkness. Even with the coolness of the night, the room was well over 90 degrees. The room had to be sweltering in the afternoons and evenings. With no access to water or food, the boy had suffered. Anger bubbled through to the surface.

He swept down the stairs and back to the main room.

"You," he said, pointing his wand at the youngest Dursley, "will go up to your room and clean that appalling mess. You will stay in that room, with the door closed, until one of your parents comes to retrieve you. Now go." He smirked as the boy, obviously very fearful of having a wand leveled at him made no complaint and ran from the room.

Snape turned to the Vernon Dursley, eyes snapping dangerously. "I would like to know what possessed you to abuse a child in your care. How could you possibly be justified in this?" he said quietly, flicking his wand, releasing the spell just enough to give the man.

"Who the hell do you think you are, attacking me in my home, ordering about my son and my wife!" the man blustered.

Snape's quick slicing motion with his wand once again returned the man to a state of silence.

"Who the hell I think I am, you ask?" he repeated back to the man, slowly. "That, Dursley is a very good question, and one you get the answer to at your peril, I should think. But it's obvious it would take more effort than I am willing to expend on the exercise to get that answer from you. I will just have to get the information from you, dare I say it, rather, charming wife?" he hissed menacingly, turning on heel to turn his attention to Petunia Dursley, who slowly stood from the chair when she realized she was under his scrutiny. He approached her with a slow measured stride, almost stalking her.

Her eyes held his, and he gave her his most menacing gaze, but was rather impressed when she didn't look away. "So, my dear Tuney, care to share with me while you idly stood by and let your buffoon of a husband torment a child?" he asked menacingly.

"Quite honestly, I didn't notice." She answered firmly, with just a hint of a waver of fear and temerity, but no sign of deception on her part.

"Didn't notice your nephew being half starved and beaten?" he replied, schooling the odd sense of admiration that she had the courage not to back down from his most menacing scare.

"You were with him every day for the past 9 months, did you notice?" she replied quietly. "There are many things you and your kind, for all of your supposed power never come to notice." She said, regret and hate mixing in her voice with self loathing.

"What has been done to the brat?" he asked forcefully, only to get a head shake and averted eyes from the woman. In his angry state, there is nothing that he would allow them to deny him.

"Look at me!" he ordered, and as the doe-eyed woman caught his gaze, he uttered a single word.

"Legilimens!"

In an instant, he was in her mind. The last few days were hazy; the woman really didn't pay attention. Shouts, slaps, the occasional bowl of soup, but not too many other thoughts of the boy. Angry beyond reason, he went back to their own childhood, to her earliest memories of him and Lily. And now was his turn to be shocked. Lily had been Petunia's only friend. Shy and not as attractive as the older, more outgoing Lily, few had ever noticed her. He watched her neglect by her own parents, and then his own involvement. How her biting insults had actually been an attempt to gain his attention. The woman was frantic that he did not go on in his review, which only made him more curious, and so he pushed ahead. Ah, so she was infatuated him. He felt a strange sense of warmth as he felt her desire, and watched her memories of daydreams. And fantasies! Of him, Severus Snape! He was shocked out of his anger, but his intrigue pushed him further. He saw defeat creep into her emotions as she realized that both her best friend and her childhood crush were to be part of a world that she could never join. He felt her bitterness as she herself witnessed her failure again. He breezed through her courtship, understanding that she had never loved Vernon Dursley. He was simply the first person to ever have paid attention solely to her. The fear she had felt when her new husband had learned of her abnormal family that he would abandoned her too, the disappointment when she finally learned that the only reason for his interest in her was her parents business contacts and apparent wealth. The desperation she had felt to cement her position in their marriage with a child when she realized the truth. Her family had a little wealth, it was true, but they had squandered it away paying for that freak school for Lily. There was nothing for Petunia. He felt her loneliness, and lack of self worth, her anger and bitterness, each one ringing in resonance with his own feelings of himself.

Yes, he truly understood Petunia Dursley. And he understood why should had stood aside and allowed the worthless piece of humanity known as Vernon Dursley neglect her nephew. Her own neglect had been nearly as tragic and never rectified. She certainly knew of nothing else.

He slipped out of her mind, much more gently than he had entered it, and spun on the man.

"Well it would seem that you are both a coward and a bully. I can't think of any two things I despise more. But what to do with you, hmm…" he considered.

"Please, Severus, don't hurt him." Petunia pleaded, voice shaking. He regarded her, realizing she must have an awful headache, and feel traumatized herself. He felt something akin to pity for the woman; after all this was Lily's blood. Wait. Lily's blood! Snape had to work very hard to repress a very slytherin smile. He realized that she was not pleading that he spare Vernon Dursley, rather, she was pleading for her own conscience, for the blood of a man that she felt she had tricked and felt remorse over. Why, he could not fathom, the ugly brute of a man was hardly worth it, but he understood her plea at its most basic level. Another piece of his brilliant plan popped into place.

He moved closer to her, until he was mere inches from her towering over her much smaller frame.

"What, my dear Petunia, would you give me to leave him be?" he asked silkily, allowing his long fingers to reach slowly to the woman's check, cupping her cheek with the barest of touches, and then slowly allowing one finger to barely stay in contact with her skin as is slid down her slender neck, across her exposed collarbone, and down toward the top button of her dress, lifting away just enough to ghost over one breast down across her flat abdomen and to a hip before dropping back to his side, his eyes never leaving hers, as he watched gooseflesh rise on her skin, and her tremble. He was delighted to see that it was not from fear of himself, but rather from the fear of her own self, from the fear of her own desire. For him, Severus Snape.

She didn't answer him, but her eyes glittered hauntingly. Snape felt a huge swell of power. It was a feeling he had seldom enjoyed, the power of being desired by another human being, of being wanted. His plan clicked into place.

His first responsibility was to his oath on his magic – protect Lily's child. And Lily's sacrifice, Lily's blood sacrifice, tied to her blood protected her child in her blood's home. Well, her blood was Petunia. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Anywhere Petunia Dursley called home was completely safe if Harry was present from the Dark Lord. Anywhere. At anytime. What would be safer than to have this woman, in his own home, and that brat under his watch? He would be perfectly safe from the monster known as the Dark Lord who he had served for so many years, keep his magic intact, and stop having to pay for 'special services' on the street… yes, a most attractive arrangement. And she was not completely undesirable; he had felt her firm flesh, her responsiveness under the stroke of that one finger. He knew from his brief view of her memories that there had been very little in the way of passion with the man known as Vernon after their spawn had been hatched.

Now, what to do with Vernon? He deserved to be punished, that was true. He was every bit as callous as Severus's own tormentors –both his father and the arrogant James Potter. In a sick way, getting even with this man made up for a multitude of sins committed against himself and those he protected, especially those committed on Potter. No, Harry. He would have to come to terms with the real Harry Potter, he realized, especially if he was taking custody of him, but that could come later. He shoved those thoughts and feelings out of his mind. But what to do with Vernon and what to do with his spawn? He regarded the man coldly, seeing even more helpless fury in his gaze. He probably hadn't appreciated that little display with Petunia, had he? Severus's own worst defeat had come to fruition at the hands of James Potter when Lily had chosen the prat over Severus. Well, wouldn't justice be sweet, he thought menacingly. He turned back to Petunia.

"I will spare the man, Tuney." he stated, stepping closer to her. "Because you asked. Because it is what you want." he kept as smirk of his face as her eyes lit up with relief, and trust.

"But tell me this." he said stepping closer yet, noting that she backed up a bit, until she was almost against the far wall. He followed her another step. "Do you want this man? Do you want to stay here? I saw in your mind, your wants, your desires. The magical world is not beyond you." He placed one had on the wall beside her trapping her, lowering his voice even further. "You need give me nothing to spare him, I will leave you here with him and your son if you tell me that is what you truly want." he said in a husky whisper, so close he was breathing in her ear. "But I can give you everything you have always truly desired."

Petunia Dursley was shaking. Her hands were pressed against the wall beside her. The man was menacingly close, and utterly terrifying, and yet, yet she felt herself respond to him. Her heart was racing; his words awakened feelings that she never thought she would get to feel again. She was caught in the endless night that was the man's eyes. She wanted this man, as she had wanted him all those years ago. She wanted to feel again. She wanted.

His gaze bore into hers, and he saw fear and conflict rage. "And your son, Petunia, he need not stay with this arrogant fool to be raised into another bully. I saw his Aunt in your mind, who loves him, dotes on him. He is nearly a man himself, and she is quite wealthy am I right?" he waited why she nodded once. "We can leave your husband in this empty shell of a house, send your son to a home where he will be raised with a firm hand, and I will fulfill all your desires. All you must do is agree in your heart." he whispered sensuously. She broke her eyes away from the dark man and took one last look at her husband. Seeing him as he truly was for the first time, all those ugly truths she had tried to hide from herself for so many years come crashing down into her mind. She loathed the man.

"Yes." she whispered, her eyes finding Severus's. And the man pounced.

He firmly took both of the hands pressed against the wall and pulled them over the woman's head, pinning her firmly but gently against the wall. A whispered spell transfigured her horrid day dress into a simple black wrap dress that was cut low against her firm, small breast, accented her small waist and showed that under the former frill were shapely hips that flared away from the waist. Snape was quite pleased with the result, noting his desire to hide her knobby knees had lengthened the dress a bit. A small set of modest black pumps replaced the gardening clogs. He smirked as he ravaged her with his eyes, before pressing a firm, dominating kiss against her mouth, and pressing her firmly back against the wall, roughly shoving his tongue in the warm cavern of her mouth when she barely parted her lips for a breath.

Snape was well aware of the helpless man watching him plunder his wife's mouth. The thought of the fact that he has seized something from this man who was such a bully, in his own home no less made his cock tighten in his pants. Merlin, it was going to feel good to take this woman. He transferred both of her wrists to one hand, released her mouth and trailed hot, nipping kisses down her neck, which she bared to him in submission, before finding an obvious sensitive spot and sucking harshly as he ran one hand down her body, cupping a breast, gently squeezing a nipple through the fabric between his thumb and first finger while feeling her up, allowing his hand to trail down to a hip. He slipped one leg between her thighs and pressed his length against her, eliciting a moan of desire. Eureka! Exactly what he wanted. Now, he knew that the Dursley bastard knew his wife did this willingly. Because of him. Because he, Severus Snape could fill her desires, her wants in a way the fat whale never could.

"Petunia," he murmured in her ear, "go upstairs, and pack those things you cannot bear to part with, and have your son do the same. I will take your son to the Aunts after I see you and Harry properly settled in our new home." he whispered as he gently lowered her arms to her sides. She took a quick look at her new apparel, met his eyes again, and with a quick nod, silently left the room to obey. Hmmm, naturally submissive. That was a definite plus to this situation. Now for the fun part.

He strode over slowly to Vernon Dursley, for whom he knew time was short. Oh, he would certainly keep his word, and not lift a finger to harm him. But as soon as Petunia entered his home and declared it her own, the blood wards would be established at Spinner's end, end the ones at number 4 Privet Drive would fail. Further, what better way to get further into the graces of the Dark Lord then to inform him of their impending failure… so that he was here to see to what remained of the family himself? Oh yes, a fitting end to such a bully, killed by the worst bully of them all. The thought made him smile as he approached the doomed man.

"You have bullied your last victim. Your wife willingly submits to another man, me, in your own home while you watch, she has so little respect for you that she doesn't want to leave your own son in your care, and a 'freak' as you called it will bring the end of you." Snape said quietly, his lilting voice deadly, cold and dark. "You saw that little display, just now, watching your wife moan like a whore at the pleasure another man was giving her. How does it feel to be bullied by someone more powerful? To feel completely helpless? I will think of you, sitting here completely helpless to do anything while I take your wife up against a wall. Or perhaps, I will make her ride my cock, hmmm? Can you imagine that? So many possibilities, and I will be sure she screams my name out in passion as I fill her. Yes, I will truly enjoy that." He chuckled as he watched the man color in incoherent rage, of which he was helpless to express.

"I give you one warning. Your wife's blood protects this home, and when she leaves, that protection ends. Run, if you can, you coward." He spat, and went to check on the boy. He knew the man would never listen, but no one could blame him for not warning the fool.

Harry was still in spell sleep, but his sleep was obviously disturbed. He removed a mild healing potion from his robe. Now that the boy has some hydration, he should be able to tolerate maybe a half dose. He spelled directly into his stomach. He needed to get the boy's possessions together as well, and returned to the room, illuminating it once again. He knew the boy had a trunk…

"Vernon locked his school things in the cupboard under the stairs." a tremulous voice informed him.

"Including his wand Petunia?" he asked, not turning.

"Especially that."

"You are never to separate the boy from his wand again."

"I'm sorry." He heard said quietly as she approached, and he felt a gentle touch on his hip, from behind.

"You are forgiven." he replied quietly, turning slowly, eyebrow raised in curiosity. He saw her head bowed, the light from his wand highlighting her angular face. He reached and tilted her chin up and took her mouth again, this time a bit more gently, with some tenderness. But the woman had been too long without passion, and leaned into him willing him through her presence to plunder. And who was he to resist? He deepened the kiss, and allowed the hand not holding his wand to trace down her back, over her pert bum and press her into his groin. He was rewarded by a moan deep in the woman's throat.

"I must get Harry's things, and then we will be quit of this place." He said, as he broke the kiss but pressed his hardness against the woman. "But I will have you tonight." he whispered forcefully into her ear and delighted in her shudder before he stepped away. It took mere minutes to collect the boy's things. He was shocked by how little the boy had, and how much was not worth having. Obviously, no care had ever been given to the boy. He sighed. The boy was not the only one who would apologize this day.

"Do you have anything you wish to say to your son or husband before we depart?" he asked quietly. "I will never keep you from that which you wish." He informed her, watching her carefully. He kept his face carefully blank from the glee he felt as the woman's eyes filled with something akin to worship. How little did it take to bring this woman back from her self imposed oblivion, and how easy was it to get everything he himself desired. Yes, he would surely enjoy his time tonight. She shook her head.

"We will be flooing – it can be a bit disturbing the first time," he said as he wrapped his own cloak around the woman's shoulders to protect her from the floo. "You will have to hold onto me, as I will have to carry Harry. He is too weak yet to do this on his own, and I think it's best to let him rest."

He quickly shrunk there things and scooped up the sleeping boy who was much to light and made his way to Spinner's end.

Petunia Dursley stepped through to a dreary, dusty library, hugging herself. She looked around, and everything was foreign. The floo flared again and Severus stepped out behind her noticed she was well, and looked around.

"This is our home now. Change whatever you want. No florals, and no red." He replied quietly. Truly, he never cared. He could teach her about taste later. Right now, it was about teaching her about the wizarding world, and her place in her new home. There were certain freedoms of course, but she would obey him. And she would enjoy it. He smirked. Very much so. "Oh, and money is now no object." He smirked at her obvious delight.

She followed him unsurely as he settled the boy on the bed in the guest room. He needed to get some more water in the boy and get him settled, and he needed to cement the blood wards. So much to do, he thought. He was startled when the boy whimpered when he let him go. The boy quieted when he gently brushed his fringe from his eyes leaning subconsciously into the touch. Yes, he was glad that this boy would see the justice he so richly deserved, and that he had never had in his child hood. He turned to see Petunia watching him, a strange look on her face.

"We both have many things to make up to the child Petunia." he declared softly.

"I know."

It was many hours later that he sat at his desk, awaiting the headmaster, who stepped through his floo. Without preamble the man started speaking.

"Severus, thank Merlin. Vernon Dursley is dead, and Privet Drive has the Dark Mark floating above." He said sadly.

"I know, Headmaster." he replied quietly.

"Then hopefully you have word of the boy?" he asked anxiously.

"He lays in his room, recovering headmaster." he said quietly, meeting the man's eyes for the first time.

"What are you on about, Severus?" he asked, obviously tired. Severus waved his hand toward a pensieve. Yes, he would show the Headmaster certain memories. Of a boy that he, Severus, knew the headmaster had neglected and wronged for his own purposes, of a woman made cold and brought back to life, of a man trapped by a madman during a mistake and trapped by a powerful manipulator trying to undo that mistake.

But the Headmaster was too late to keep him in that trap any longer. The woman was alive, very much so, warming his bed. The boy was safe, in his own bed, with medicine and healing. He would be trained, and he would survive that damned prophecy if Severus had to kill that damn fraud Trelawney himself. And Dumbledore – Dumbledore was no longer the puppet master, and would know that soon.

Severus treated as servant, forgotten by those who should have understood his power, had pulled the greatest move in chess. He had castled, trading his rook for his King, securely behind the queen. And never had victory felt sweeter. He was in charge of his own destiny in the first time in his life, and he would be central to bringing an end to the Dark Lord, but neither would he be under the thumb of those who had persecuted him, nor those who believed they were of the light when their own hands were sullied.

THE END

Hope you liked it Risi!

(I might be persuaded to delete the last paragraph and add another chapter with enough reviews asking for it.)

LTD


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Harry Potter – Not mine. JK Rowling – Not mine, and never stole so much as a kiss from her. Any character your recognize – Not mine. Playing with Ms. Rowling's characters: Priceless. As in free, not making any money, and a complete time-suck.

A second chapter from the drabble prompt that I put up for contest – a bunch of you liked it. However, I really struggled with how smutty this got, and so pared it down some. A racier version will post on a website more suitable for that material. Send me a ping if you want the site info.

For the rest of you – it's still an "M" – don't like, don't read. On with the story.

Harry came to slowly, his head pounding. Nothing new. His tongue felt too thick for his mouth, and he was desperately thirsty. He'd better check the time, though, because if he wasn't up before his uncle got him to make breakfast, he wouldn't get any water. And he obviously needed it. He sighed, and opened his eyes, but shut them quickly. It was no longer dark in his room, and the mild light had been blinding…

Wait. There wasn't lamp light or candlelight at the Dursleys… Snape. Snape had taken him from the Dursleys. He carefully opened his eyes, letting them slowly adjust to the dim light. He was in a small, darkish grey room, it could be blue… hard to tell in the light. There was a dark, velvety comforter on the bed, and he was tucked in. Toward the foot of the bed was a wingback chair, and a dark figure sat in the chair. Without his glasses, he couldn't be certain of who was in the chair. For whatever reason, he wasn't afraid. He watched the figure, and tried not to move.

"I know you are awake, Potter." came a dark velvety voice after several minutes.

"Sir?" he replied quietly, his voice sounding scratchy and uncertain to his own ears.

"You didn't know who was sitting here." It wasn't a question.

He didn't know what the Professor was looking for, so he decided to remain silent.

"Your glasses." He said stretching up across the space to place them within the boys reach.

The boy slowly extracted one arm from the bed and put the glasses on. The Professor's features were barely discernable in the dark light.

"I could have been anyone." he stated neutrally.

"And I wouldn't have been able to do anything about it, regardless." replied the boy quietly. It wasn't cheek. It wasn't hubris. The boy was utterly and irrevocably broken. For the first time in his life, the man who was Severus Snape wanted to scream bloody murder at this boy, and shake him senseless, but not because he was an arrogant, self-important super image of his belated father, but because he, who had been innocent, earnest and stalwart had given up, and there was no hope that this boy could act as savior to the entire wizarding world. He would have to put the boy back together. He desperately longed for this boy no longer to be broken.

He was a patient man.

He could do this.

"Did you know you are legally blind Potter?"

"Would that be in the muggle world or the wizarding world, sir?" the boy replied sarcastically.

"One would wonder, then, why you are such a remarkable quidditch player?" he murmured quietly, ignoring the boy's cheek.

"Your Aunt told me your eyes have never been tested." Harry noticed it was another statement.

"Aye, sir." the boy replied dully, when the silence went on too long.

"I took the liberty of casting a diagnostic spell while you were out. You are legally blind, in the muggle world. The condition of your eyesight was temporarily made worse by you head injury some days ago." The man fell silent again. Minutes passed.

"Potter, I could have been anyone, and you didn't care. You don't care that your blind, and don't care that I am having in-depth conversations with your aunt. You. Simply. Don't. Care."

The boy didn't respond, not that he had expected him to. This called for drastic measures.

He stood abruptly, and moved toward the boy. The boy looked up into his face, squinting slightly. It was obvious that the boy could not make out his features, and was looking at him with those eyes, those tired, haunted green eyes, that were much too old and much too young in the same moment. The boy flinched a bit as he quickly sat on the side of the bed and scooped up the boy's hand.

"I know you don't care right now. You don't trust anyone to care. You don't have anyone or anything. That. Stops. Now. I was wrong about you, about your family – wrong about everything. I have sins to atone for, not the least of which is what has happened to you. It stops now. It changes now. You are my charge now. My true charge, not just some child I swore on a memory of a friend to protect. But mine. I will care for you until you do care. I care."

The boy sat and blinked at him, owlishly, obviously caught by surprise, but no longer apathetic; but very, very wary. He remained silent. He gently set the boys hand on the duvet.

"Eat, and rest, Potter." He said, standing as there was a knock on the door. He crossed the floor to open it, and let Petunia in, who had a tray.

"Aunt Petunia?" the boy asked incredulously.

"Yes Harry?" she replied quietly.

"You never call me Harry." the boy whispered, shock clearly evident on his features.

"I know."

"Thank you Petunia, I will sit with him until he is asleep." He informed the woman quietly, gently touching her elbow as she passed. They exchanged a look briefly. Harry was at a loss for what it meant. There was a rich broth in front of him, and some soft rolls, a weak tea, and honey on the tray.

He looked up at the professor, clearly confused.

"Where did this food come from?"

"Your aunt and I prepared it."

The boy dropped the spoon he had reached for.

"It is neither poisoned, nor horrible. Petunia informed me you were the only cook in the Dursley household. I will protect you from her deplorable culinary skills."

Harry looked at the tray and swallowed hard. On the one hand, he knew it had been ages since he ate, on the other; he was just as certain that his most hated professor could poison him. Throwing caution to the wind – after all, did he really care if he was poisoned? He picked up the meal and tentatively started to eat.

The professor withheld a sigh of relief. He didn't think his position with the boy would have been helped if he forced the boy to eat. He realized on some level that the boy eating might be seen as a good or bad sign, but the boy needed sustenance-he was a wreck. The boy didn't finish the meal, which didn't surprise the professor, who slowly and deliberately approached and took the tray, setting it aside.

"I will answer 3 questions before you go to sleep, Potter." He said quietly, hoping that the boy would take him up on his offer. The boy s near silence and lack of curiosity were so out of character that it truly had him worried.

Harry wanted to snort in derision, but a well honed sense of self preservation from the summer stayed him. He really didn't want to see the Professor angry. Since that was the case, he really shouldn't pass up the opportunity to ask the questions. Not that he really cared, but Snape being accommodating was as rare as a nargle. What to ask?

"Where are we sir?"

"This is my home, Spinners End, and your new home as well. This is your room. Everything that you find in it now is yours."

The boy looked up at him in astonishment. Well, if he wasn't going back to the Durselys and the headmaster was involved, surely this was the most miserable place he could be. It certainly sounded like something the Headmaster would suggest. The boy sighed.

"Then sir, why is my Aunt here?"

"She is now with me. She is my… consort. She will live here as well."

To say that this pitched Harry to a new level of astonishment would certainly be and understatement. However, it suddenly being in Professor Snape's clutches wasn't bad enough, then being saddled with his aunt certainly would make this par for the course of his life thus far.

Deciding any more questions about his circumstances or the weirdness that was unfolding in this place would likely just make him more depressed; Harry decided to change his tack. Maybe this was just a really odd dream. "Why would you stay until I am asleep?" he asked, since that was the thing that seemed most dream like.

The onyx eyed professor studied him solemnly for a few moments. It was time to earn the boy's trust, although if the boy had paid attention who had saved his incompetent arse over the last five year…. Professor Snape shoved that thought firmly behind the occulmency shields. Honesty or at least half of it. "So that you know that you are not alone, and that you are safe."

Harry Potter couldn't comprehend it. He was tired to his very core, and so very, well just done. He simply looked at the professor, and tried to settle back. He was shocked when he felt the professor assisting him. He was asleep in minutes. In a weird way, he thought to himself, as he drifted back into oblivion, it was a nice dream. It had been a very long time since he had felt he wasn't utterly alone.

True to his word, the Professor watched the boy until his face went slack, and he drifted off. He noticed that it still didn't seem like the most restful sleep. Nightmares, most likely, given the history of abuse at home and the traumas of the war in the wizarding world. He sat in silent contemplation. It was going to be difficult to win this boy's trust. He had done more difficult things, however.

He strode silently down the hidden staircase to the sitting room, and quickly entered to the kitchen to find Petunia stacking dishes. Their first night had been… frenetic. She had been desperate with her desire, to feel wanted and accepted. He himself realized that it had been much too long since he had let his more carnal desires go… but tonight would be different. The boy was resting, and they had slept in long into the morning themselves. He watched as she stacked the dirty dishes in the sink, and looked on in consternation at the tap… or lack of one.

He crept up silently behind her and trapped her against the sink by placing a hand to either side of her. He pressed against her, sure that she could feel his half hard cock against her pert little bum.

"Petunia my dear, what is troubling you?" he spoke softly into her ear, so she could feel his breath. He was gratified to feel a small chill against his breast as she shuddered.

"I can't do the dishes."

"Excellent." He stated quietly, as he dropped his head and nosed her curls away from her neck. He was rewarded with another shudder as he at first kissed and then nipped and sucked her sensitive neck. He felt his cock grow harder and feel constricted by his pants. He was going to take her again.

"Powerful wizards can spell things done in advance, so muggles such as your selves can active the spell with a just a word."

"You are very powerful then?" she asked quietly, reaching back to stroke the outside of his thigh as he lavished attention on her sensitive neck.

"Yes. And so is your nephew. He has a desire to be needed. Helping you along in your new home will be good for the boy. We will both work to make everything you need work with just a word from you." He explained as he moved his hands from the counter to her waist and pulled her back against him. He pulled out his wand, and with a wave, set the dishes to doing themselves.

He led her by the hand through to his library, and pulled her next to his desk, which was before a merrily crackling fire. Hmmm, such possibilities. He turned toward her and suddenly plundered her mouth, searching for all the erotic spots within. He broke the kiss, and walked over to an armoire, and poured them both a glass of wine. Handing her one, he watched her as she delicately sipped at it, watching him through her thick dark lashes. He reached up to her face, and cupping her chin, reached in for another searing kiss.

"A most excellent vintage," he purred, as he broke the kiss, "and all the sweeter from being from your lips." He watched as she blushed slightly, and looked away, embarrassed by the compliment. He took her glass from her and pushed her back until her bum hit the edge of the desk, and took her mouth again. He thrust into her mouth with his tongue again, and began lapping at her tongue with strong, sensuous strokes, echoing what he would soon be doing with length of his cock. He ran his hands down from the top of her shoulders, down her sides, along the tops of her thighs and gently pushed her knees apart as he stepped between her legs, pressing his length against her.

"What do you desire?" he whispered as he gently as he rutted his clothed length against her and moved one hand up to cup her small pert breast through the material of her dress.

"I want to pleasure you." shs sighed desperately as she unconsciously spread her legs wider in invitation. Both were still fully clothed, but he hid s smirk. They would not stay that way long.

"How do you wish to pleasure me?" he asked, his rich deep voice husky with want.

"I.. I want t do what you wish, anything you ask… I want.. I want to... to make you feel the way you made me feel last night."

"How did I make you feel, exactly, then?" he inquired, partly to hear the woman talk in a wonton way, and partly out of curiosity.

"You... you knew my fantasies, my hidden desires. You, you did things I asked for, without…" her words were halting, stuttering – she couldn't explain exactly what she was feeling.

"You want to fulfill my fantasies?"

"Yes," she hissed as pushed his length a little more forcefully against her, angling his hips to cause more friction. "Yes, tell me anything you want."

He stepped back slowly from between her legs, allowing a hand to trace down from her breasts and then to linger across the top of her thigh, and then to the knee, where he gently started to push her dress up. He went very slowly, exposing more and more skin as he watched her face, ghosting up over her skin, up her inner thigh.

He slowly withdrew his hand, never breaking eye contact.

Pulling himself away from her slowly, backing into his desk chair, picking up his wine and slowly seating himself. He was so hard now, and knowing one of his fantasies was to be fulfilled was delightful.

He took a slow slip of wine eyes never leaving the woman's as he licked a drop of the wine from the rim of his glass.

"Undress." he ordered her quietly.

She was wearing a simple wrap dress, today in a deep burgundy. She kicked of the simple pumps and slowly pulled at the tie at the waste. Then, she unwrapped the dress slowly, revealing unadorned silk pants. Her small firm breasts were not in need of a bra, in his opinion, and he had not transfigured her one.

"Everything off." He stated huskily, greedily looking his fill while he took another sip of the wine. He motioned pointedly with his glass at her panties.

She watched him nervously, a tremor running through her body. How very unnerving it was to be undressed while he was full clothed, completely exposed following every order. It made her tremble, with fear, but more than fear, it was anticipation. She hooked her thumbs at the waist band and lowered them, kicking them to the side.

He should cast glamour on those knees, he thought distractedly, but looked at her for several long moments, eyes hooded in lust. He slowly put the glass of wine down, and then watching her, and allowing her to watch him, slowly unbuckled his belt and lowered the zipper, releasing himself from his trousers.

"Come to me." She took a few steps toward him as he leaned back in his chair and spread his legs.

"Kneel."

Yes, it was going to be a very satisfying night for both of them.


	3. Chapter 3 Revised

Disclaimer:

It's JK Rowling's playhouse. In the unlikely event her attorney's pick me out of the 500,000 or so folk also playing in this playhouse, I want to point out that I make no money from this – but if they want everything I own, they can start with the credit card and any associated bills.

Chapter 3 in this story that started as a 1-shot on a contest. When I need a bit of a break from my main story, I have been toying with this one. I don't have much of a plot outline, so don't know when I'll call this one ended.

No smut in this chapter, but there is a 4th chapter under revision that looks like it's going that way for those of you who go into smut withdrawal.

Cheers,

Ltd.

He woke up, a slight pounding in his temples - no surprise. After all, he had had a few glasses of wine with Petunia… in between other, ah yes, the other more delectable activities. He had a potion that would clear out any of the lingering effects of the alcohol. It was just past 5:30am according to the tempus he cast, so he forced his way out of the warm comfort of a bed shared with a willing lover. He smirked – and Petunia had been very willing indeed. No, no need to go back to those delightful thoughts, he chided himself gently. His ward was indeed a morning person… and even with him recovering, he would be awake soon. In order to win the boy's trust, first he had to know someone was there for him, someone would always be there for him, and more than if he just sought them out. The child had proven he could not trust an adult to seek them out for help or to meet his needs, and he had been too blind by his hatred to see the pattern. Yes, obviously the boy had no idea how to ask for the things he needed, he needed a parental unit to be physically there, anticipating his needs and even offering them unbidden in order for him to learn. So much more difficult than actually parenting he thought tiredly, and Pet had certainly started to help; but she was no morning person. Yes it would be difficult, but then again Severus Snape, he told himself, was ordinary in nothing. Of course he had an extraordinary ward, with extraordinary issues….

Harry, true to form had woken at promptly 6am. This was the time his family had forced him to get up, the time at Hogwarts necessary to get up to ensure a hot shower… and as few questions about his scars as anyone dare impose. Light filtered though his closed eyelids, as he came slowly up from a sleep so deep that it neared unconsciousness, and somewhere in his muddled brain he realized that this meant his cupboard door was open, or he wasn't in his cupboard at all. This had him waking up much faster, and he set up with a bolt of adrenaline and gasping breath. He suddenly flinched away from the light, only to then realize there was no meaty hand about to wrench him from safety. The light was merely coming from a window, in a pale blue-gray room that while not familiar was not exactly unknown. Hadn't it all been a dream?

"You are safe, Mr. Potter." came the slow drawl of a voice from across the room. His head spun toward the voice, his eyes landing blurrily on dark shape in a chair that was few feet from the end of the bed, he blinked owlishly for a moment.

"Professor?" he asked, timidly, his voice uncertain in his own ears.

"Indeed," intoned the dark, velvety voice.

"Where am I?" he asked quietly.

"You do not recall yesterday? What you see about you does not convey that?"

Whether his hearing was heightened by the inability to see or his fearfulness of the unfamiliar surroundings, Harry had not been able to detect the note of utter loathing and ridicule usually present in his most-hated professor's voice when said professor was addressing him. His mind went back to bits and pieces of yesterday. Waking up here, his Aunt Petunia here, it was all very confusing.

"Neither sir. Um, what I mean, yesterday is really a bit fuzzy, and I an just make out shapes and colors without my glasses but and I don't remember this place well, I guess, not that I can see it," he trailed off when he suddenly realized he was rambling and not to the most patient of men.

"Hmm, very well then," replied the Professor, he stood and then sat on the edge of the bed, and nudged the frames of a new pair of glasses into the hands of his young charge. "Much has transpired in the past 24 hours. We have much to discuss, but of now let us focus on your physical needs. Your new glasses arrived with the paper delivery this morning, but should be the correct prescription once you are finished healing, but even then they should help you more than you old glasses did in the meantime. You will need two or three days more bed rest. Your concussion, left untreated for so long is dangerous and while you may begin to feel physically well, the concussion combined with the heat exhaustion was life threatening. You will need to rest to fully recover, and I expect to be obeyed in this. May I have your word you will remain in bed until I release you?"

"Uhm, but what about the loo, and, uh, a shower?" he said, hesitantly.

"You may get up for those things, but for today at least, I or Petunia should be in the room as you may experience vertigo or fluctuations in blood pressure, and you might fall."

"Oh." Was all he could think to say.

"Your word, Mr. Potter?"

"Yeah, alright. I'll stay in bed except for the loo and stuff, and today I will make sure you are here before I go." He replied quietly. Snape held back at correcting his ward on his insufferably common speech. Truly he thought there would be much more of a fight.

"Once you are sufficiently recovered, we will take you for a proper eye exam and have those glasses adjusted. Be thinking of other things you may need to settle in. 

"Er, sir? You saved me again, didn't you, I mean…" Harry trailed off awkwardly. The whole situation was just wrong. Snape most definitely shouldn't be the person concerned with his rest, his physical well being or his sanity, should he? Suddenly it was too much, and the boy busied himself f putting on his new glasses but was not quite able to meet the professor's eyes. "I guess what I am trying to say is, thanks, uhm, maybe thanks again?" 

To Snape most the boy's tentative speech was awkward and frustrating, and Snape firmly reminded himself the teen had been through a great deal and should not be ridiculed. Potter, no, Harry, had been ridiculed enough in his short life, and nothing breached the boys trust faster.

"Mr. Potter," He started, clearing his throat to buy time, "the events of the past 24 hours have certainly brought to light… a number of erroneous conclusions I might have purported to be true. Your ineloquence aside as it is not important and we will work on that later, I did remove you from your previous shelter. It was the right thing to so for any child, but if you see it is your 'salvation' then, yes, I would be acting in the role a 'savior'."

He scowled lightly as the green eyes met his uncertainly, confusion clear on the boy's face. "However, the sentiment is appreciated. Though," he continued, studying his young ward thoughtfully, "through pure determination you had managed to survive the first 14 years in your Aunt and Uncle's care, you may have just managed to survive the episode I witnessed without my intervention." They boys face clouded over as anxiety suddenly spiked. Not a good sign in his traumatized young ward, time to change the topic.

"Your Aunt seemed at a loss as to what food you preferred. I have beef broth and toast coming for you again as we need to be sensitive to your health and ease you back into solid food. You will eat smaller meals more frequently for the next few days until you build up the ability to eat a proper meal, and you will take a supplement I have prepared for you to aid in your recovery. You will let me know what foods you prefer over the next few days." He raised a puzzled eyebrow as his ward seemed to suddenly look at him stunned. He wasn't sure what he had said that was so shocking.

Harry stared at the man, blinking owlishly, as shock slowly turned to incredulity, which started to feed into something like fear. Never in a million years did he ever think his greasy git of a potion professor would ever care about him enough to do more than keep him barely alive enough to off Voldemort. Now he was talking about preferred foods, specially prepared supplements, and the boy's physical recovery?

As fear built, wariness overcame the boy. His fingers searched for this wand beneath his pillow even has he turned his face away from the man across from him, who he was quickly coming to believe could not be his Professor. With eyes averted, he struggled to keep whoever this man was in his peripheral vision while he tried to arm himself.

"I guess I am too weak to move right now, is that it, sir? I mean thanks, but, this is an awful lot of trouble for you and I am hardly your favorite person. Where am I to go next?" he asked quietly trying to buy time, just as he felt the smooth surface of the holly wand and his magic answer to the soft thrum of the magic at it's core.

"You are perfectly safe here now, Mr. Potter. We will discus your housing beyond the immediate future when a meal is in you and you have had more time to rest, but I assure you that you are welcome here, and this is your room, as I have stated before."

Yep, Harry thought to himself, that is so not Snape. It had to be an imposter. With this thought, all confusion left his mind and with a rush of adrenaline he quickly brought his wand to bare right at the imposter's heart. "Don't go for your wand, or I will hex you." Harry stated firmly.

The Professor regarded him silently.

"Who are you, and what do you want from me?"

"Hmmm, perhaps it was too much too soon," Snape muttered mostly to himself.

"No. Moody – 'Constant vigilance'. Professor Snape always hated my guts, since before he even knew me, and he would not be worried about me being 'overwhelmed' after a tousle and fainting spell. He'd be laughing in my face that I had been bested by a fat muggle. Hell, he'd probably enjoy watching me get bullied around, figured I deserved it since my father was the exact type of git as that. And worried about what foods I eat, or that my glasses aren't right? Hah! Don't make me laugh. So who the hell are you, and what do you want with me?" The boy cocked his head and seeming considering him, and then all the color drained from his face. His wand began to tremble as his knuckles tightened on the handle in obvious distress.

"And… wait. More importantly, what have you done with the real Professor Snape? Where the hell is he?" he demanded, almost shouting if fear and anger.

The Professor struggled to keep surprise of his face. He raised one eyebrow.

"Why would you be worried by someone who as treated you so horribly for so many years?" drawled the man sarcastically.

Harry didn't know who this imposter was, but he was good. Really good.

"Because the greasy git saved my life more times than I can count, and he does the right thing, even though he hates me. Now where is he?" snapped the boy.

Professor Snape let out a long sigh. "Potter, what will it take to convince you? I am Professor Snape, this is my house. Right now you are so safe, even Dumbledore can't get here, and am trying to help you. I will explain all the reasons for that in due time, but you are weak and you need to rest, and this type of drama is not going to make matters any better. I would be touched at your concern over my person if it didn't show a startling lack of concern for your own welfare." He paused; the boy's expression did not change.

"You said and I quote 'he does the right thing even though he hates me'. You are wrong Potter. Well, actually, you are correct, too - a week ago I would have laughed if someone told me you were getting bullied by your muggle relatives, thinking you deserved it because you were just like that ba… Potter. To be just like your father, however, you would have had to be coddled, spoiled, doted upon and think you are more important than everyone else. You would have to bully those weaker and less fortunate for fun. If it was just a fainting spell, and a bit of a tousle, Potter, that's one thing. What it actually was, which you are too damaged to see, was the culmination of being worked like a house elf for years, and stuck when you were too weak to defend yourself. As you said earlier, I 'saved' you. Between the dehydration, and the sudden loss of blood, you went into shock, and could have died. That isn't a tousle, Mr. Potter, that's abuse. But be that as it may, I was wrong to see you only as your father, and I don't always do the right thing. If I did, I would have seen the erroneous conclusion much sooner. I am not stranger to the symptoms of abuse."

The boy lowered his wand fractionally, a small shake of his head the only indication that he heard.

"Now, Mr. Potter… Harry. Harry, you hold the wand. What do you need to hear for me to prove that I am Professor Snape, I no longer hate you, and you are welcome here?" he asked quietly.

The boy studied him at length. "My father… the spell he used on you. What was it and why is it different?"

He narrowed his eyes. The nerve of the boy! But, in a very real way, what else did he have that was known by so very few. He sighed, shoving the anger that memory brought behind his occulmancy shields. "Levicorpus, and it's 'different' because I created it."

The boy lowered the wand, but the color did not return to his face.

"I… I'm sorry, Sir. About, this, and about the pensieve – I…"

Snape let out a frustrated sigh. "Yes, Harry, you have apologized, and I have accepted your apology for that already, and I am not upset you questioned your surroundings. I am actually quite relieved that you cared. Now, will you let me assist you once more?" he asked, waiting of the boy to release the wand before getting up, and arranging the pillows so the boy could sit up without being taxed. He noticed as he settled him that the boy was trembling faintly from the strain.

"Hopefully, we can avoid any more drama, as it does not aid in your recovery. I will be right back with your tray."

The boy blushed and averted his gaze.

He momentarily laid his hand on the boys shoulder, giving a moment of comfort. "All is well, Harry, just rest for a few moments."

He quit the room closing the door gently, and shook himself. Where had that come from? Reassuring the boy? He huffed as he made his way to the kitchen


	4. Chapter 4 NEW

Author's note: Well, it's been a while, on all my stories. My real life includes a promotion at work, a terminally ill father who will pass in the next few months, and a husband with cancer that came out of remission this summer and has subsequently been beaten back into remission – and those are just the things that are going well. I think the only thing I need to cap it would be to move or go back to school… Merlin forbid. Anyway, I have decided to continue this story – I have a longer plot in mind. I have drafts for next chapters nearly ready to go on my other two stories as well… but it may take me a while. Anyway – thanks for your patience. Also, sorry this chapter is a bit short – it's second 'half' was not ready to go and a bit too long for a single post, so I decided to post this one, anyway.

Disclaimer: Still rated M. If you ever have been offended by the ideas of another… I am not the author for you. I am making no money, and actually have spent hundreds on HP this year alone. You're welcome, Ms. Rowling. On with the story….

Snape stifled a groan. Merlin. 5:30 am again… maybe he should develop a potion to change the boy's circadian rhythms so he was no longer a morning person, he thought to himself waspishly. For the past 4 days, he had risen at this ungodly hour to be there when the boy woke, see to his needs, and reassure the brat. The boy was recovering, albeit slowly, but had been distant, but not recalcitrant. The potion master offered thanks to what ever deity happened to be listening for that small favor. Today was the boy's first day to shower for himself and to leave his room unaided. Snape did not want the insatiably curious brat wandering his home unsupervised and with no direction… no, he needed to think of this new situation differently, their 'new' home, and the brat should not be unsupervised until he understood the rules and the consequences for breaking them.

After quickly completing his morning ablutions, Snape made his way to the kitchen and started a simple breakfast of steel cut oats, tea and toast. Just as he was sitting down to his first cuppa, the brat who lived to confound hovered nervously at the doorway.

"Good morning, sir." The boy greeted quietly, taking half a hesitant step into the room when Snape looked up. The boy's hair was damp, but not unusually messy, and his clothing hung limply on his small frame. Snape swallowed a sigh, and reminded himself that he must take Pet and the boy shopping, today. The boy was skittish as a unicorn foal in his presence, and he supposed four days after the upheaval was a bit soon to expect something else. Well, he had a plan for that, of course, which started today.

"Good morning, Harry. Breakfast is on the stove, please serve yourself."

The boy's startled glance told him that although he had personally seen to every meal for the child for the past few days, the boy still didn't expect food as a right. Merlin, was the boy dense, he thought irritatedly, but then squelched that thought behind his occulmancy shields. In order to change his relationship with the boy, he chided himself yet again, he had to change his way of thinking of the boy. The boy was not dense. The boy had simply been without simple care for too long and it would take time for him to understand that so long as he was his ward, he would have everything he needed and more.

The boy moved with a certain amount of temerity, but was obviously well versed in duties around the kitchen. Well, that would be some of his chores, then. Snape carefully folded the Prophet he had been perusing while waiting for the boy to show, and made a quick edit to the list he had complied underneath, banishing the extra quill when he was finished, which allowed the boy to settle himself with his meal before Snape addressed him again.

"As promised, we will be discussing your ongoing living arrangements, the rules of such, and my expectations of you. While we are talking, I would like you to consider that you may certainly make requests of your own, and that I will consider them." As Snape had begun to speak, he noticed that the boy's spoon had frozen during the short distance from the bowl to his mouth, and that the boy's knuckles had turned white. The boy returned the spoon to the bowl slowly, but kept his gaze averted to his food, so Snape couldn't quite read his face. Was it fear, or anger that had caused the boy to stop eating? He certainly didn't want to put the boy off his food – the child needed every calorie he could get.

"Harry, please look at me." He asked quietly, but the boy had yet to respond. "Harry?" he tried again, allowing just a hint of sternness into his voice to allow the child to know he expected to be obeyed.

"Sir," the boy said, raising his face but keeping his eyes averted. "I… I'd like to start with a request." He stated quietly, followed by a hard swallow, which seemed to be the only evidence of the boy's obvious fear.

The nerve of the brat! Snape inhaled sharply, reigning in his anger – the boy was actually going to start off by making demands, well wasn't that a surprise, he thought to himself sarcastically. Well, actually, wasn't it a surprise? The boy had hardly been demanding or arrogant, but rather subdued and grateful. Well, he had said to himself at least that he didn't want this defeated version of the boy that was too idiotic to die and would prefer the cocky boy he had known before, he thought ruefully. He shook his head minutely as he drawled, "Yes, Potter?"

The boy swallowed hard again. "No legilmency without my permission, and… you… well, you sometimes call me Harry. Do you think… maybe, well, uhm, if it's not too much trouble, sir, you could stop calling me 'Potter'? It makes me think you are angry with me all the time."

Well, is that what had the boy so tense? Of course, he would still skim the thoughts on the top of the boys' mind – that wasn't really true legilmency, so he could agree to the brat's request, and well, eliminating 'Potter' wouldn't be too difficult, especially not with boy, boy wonder, brat and idiotic brat at his disposal. The boy was a bit obtuse, too, asking him to stop calling him Potter. He realized it was a dead giveaway to when he was irritated or angry with the brat, and the brat had just given away that advantage. Snape added strategy lessons to his long list of things he needed to do for the boy.

"Hmmmm, yes, Harry, I think that would be a good start to a different type of relationship." He said slowly. The boy blinked owlishly, and a hint of a smile edged the corner of the boy's lips. Was the boy actually pleased by something so very minor, Snape wondered to himself incredulously? It was going to be ridiculously easy to have this boy eating out of the palm of his hand, if that was the case.

"Now, rules. This will be a place of peace for all of us. That means interacting in a calm, civil, and respectful manner at all times. You will address both me and Petunia with respect, and proper decorum. You will have responsibilities, and you will fulfill those responsibilities as an adult. If you behave as such, you will be treated as an adult. However, behave as an arrogant brat, and you will be treated as such, including loss of privileges and punishment. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded once, and averted his gaze. That was it? No questions? Not railing at authority, or claming life was so unfair? That had been too easy, Snape thought uneasily. "Do you have any questions, Harry?"

"So, I get my chores from you, or Aunt Petunia?" he said tiredly, as he fiddled with his spoon.

"Your chores will be a set list of tasks to help aid the adults in the running of this household for the week. I was going to suggest that in addition to keeping your own things and room neat, tidy and clean, that since you are the earliest riser, that you assist in preparing the morning meal. I thought perhaps you could also assist in the potions garden as that is not someplace we can aide Petunia is functioning like a witch, and then you would be responsible for aiding me in storing spells to keep the household functioning for Petunia. I also expect you to accept a few hours of tutoring from me each day, and to spend time each day working on the lessons I set for you. You will also be granted a certain amount of free time each day. I have prepared a rough outline, but it is negotiable." Snape explained nonchalantly, as he took a small scrap of parchment from under his newspaper and slid it toward the boy.

Harry reached out tentatively to take the small scrap of paper, his hand shaking lightly. While what Snape had send didn't' seem too bad, the lists from his uncle and aunt hadn't often sounded too bad in theory either. He briefly skimmed the parchment

Weekdays

Rise in time to have breakfast ready by 7:30

8:30 – Breakfast - finished and dishes done

8:30 to 10 – Defense tutoring

10 to 12 – Chores

12 to 1 – Lunch

1 to 3 – Free time

3 to 4 – Independent study/reading

4 – Tea

5 to 7 – Lessons or free time

7 to 8 – Dinner

8 to 9 – Spell storage or drills

9:30 nightcap

10:00 Lights out

Sat/Sun – 4 hours daily chores or lab, free time, meals as weekly, no cooking

Harry blinked owlishly a the paper "That's it?" he asked incredulously

"I know it's a demanding schedule, Harry, especially given your recent injuries, but I think you are capable of it." Snape said, as he studied the still pallid teen. Merlin, he hadn't thought the schedule was that harsh, what was the blasted brat worried about?

"No, that's it, Sir, that's all you expect me to do? I… you've done so much for me, I can do a bit more." The boy said quietly, his eyes darting to the Potions master for the first time.

"I don't require more, boy, but if you feel so moved, your free time is exactly that. I can always find a cauldron for you to scrub, although I must admit I was saving those for punishment." He replied snidely. Snape sighed inwardly as the boy bit his bottom lip and looked quickly away. Was the boy so damaged that his usual banter would truly wound? Merlin, it was going to be a long summer.

"Harry?" Snape prompted when he felt the silence has dragged on too long.

"Will that be my punishment sir, if I…" the boy started to ask uncertainly, but either ran out of nerve, or lost his train of thought.

"Punishment will be for not following the rules or being disrespectful. First will be loss of free time, then extra lessons or extra chores. Rewards for tasks done exceptionally well will be more free time, small gifts, or fewer chores."

The boy nodded again, but didn't meet his gaze. "You have another question, Pot… Harry?"

The boy opened his mouth, but closed it again, before shaking his head minutely.

"Ask, boy. We will not build a new relationship between us if we leave things unexplained."

"You… you won't hit me or hex me, will you sir, as punishment?" asked the boy quietly, his Gryffindor courage returning to him as he met the man's eye.

Snape was glad his occullmency shields were firmly in place. He had never raised a hand to the child, well, except for throwing the jar of cockroaches at his head during the penseive incident, but that was clearly an unusual circumstance. He knew the boy loathed him, and his loathing was based in fear. The hostility of all those years juxtaposed with that brute of an uncle… yes, he could very well see that the boy would be confused about who would strike out and when.

"Let us be clear, Harry. I will not raise a hand or wand to you in anger. I do not need to hurt you to punish you. Well, I don't need to hurt you bodily, but my punishments will hit your pride. You will do well to understand that I can't train you and promise not to hex you, but that will be done for your betterment, not out of anger."

"Okay sir, uhm, yeah, I guess I understand." Said the boy through a bit of a blush.

"Other than your request for your own nomenclature, and my not to go rifling though your as yet unshielded thoughts unbidden, do you have any other expectations of me or your Aunt?"

The boy picked up his spoon again, and started fiddling with it nervously. "Uh, yeah, about that, sir. Uhm, if it's not too personal sir, you said that my Aunt was your consort, does that mean you are 'together' together,… or well, she's just, uhm, you know helping out around here, or…." The boy trailed off, blushing wildly.

Snape smirked. Ineloquent as ever, the daft boy was, well, there would be one way to shut the brat up and convince him not to go poking down that line of thought. "We are intimate, and I consider the arrangement permanent. Do you require details beyond that?" he explained curtly, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

The boy met his gaze again, eyes wide, and dual spots of color appeared on the boy's cheeks. "Uh, no sir, that's pretty clear."

"Anything else?" Snape asked dryly.

"Well, sir, if I mess up, can you, well, kind of maybe, explain how, before you punish me?" the boy asked paling as looking away as if he had released that sentence before he thought through the implications.

"What?" asked Snape abruptly. The boy made no sense.

"Well, sometimes sir, when you are angry, I don't exactly know why. You said to behave in a civil and respectful manner, using my 'manners' but I don't suspect I understand exactly what that means to you. Maybe I'll screw up and not really realize it…." the boy trailed off nervously again, looking away from his new guardian's close scrutiny.

"A bit much to expect you learned any propriety from that spineless excuse for a human being, true." Snape murmured more to himself than to Harry. "Yes, I'll explain, but I may still punish you if I feel you do something obtuse and you should have known better."

Harry nodded again. "Finish your porridge before it goes completely cold, boy. Your Aunt will be down shortly, and we will have our first family meeting." Snape said as he rose to refill his tea.

"Family?" the boy whispered to himself; however Snape caught it, but pretended not to hear. Yes, the boy desperately wanted to belong somewhere, to someone, and now he did. Family, Snape snorted to himself, was exactly what you made out of it. The boy was now his, to shape and mold as he saw fit, and the boy would be a Wizard to be reckoned with – indeed they would be a family to be reckoned with.


End file.
